


Intricate Rituals...

by salemnities



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, One Shot, Trans Character, Trans Duck Newton, it's about the amore... the intricate rituals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17093849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salemnities/pseuds/salemnities
Summary: Duck accidentally invites Barclay over for a dinner date when they bump into each other in the woods





	Intricate Rituals...

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in..a long while! and my first taz fic which is pretty exciting. I love these two and it was fun to experiment writing them!  
> Duck is trans btw.  
> I think my writing is pretty tidy but it's not perfect. Please be nice!

It's Friday, Duck's first day back at work since the H2O Woah! incident. He's missed the familiar paths of the Monongahela forest, the earthy, clean smell of the forest.

He checks out the campground, the lower lookout, and the upper; his favourite spot to stand and gaze out over Kepler, the small houses nestled into trees and bunched together. A chilly wind that promises snow cuts through his jacket and nearly knocks his hat off his head. 

 

Feels good to be back. 

 

He's heading back to the ranger station to file some paperwork (which is basically all he did while he was bedridden, mowing through stacks of papers that dated back nearly six months and then cutting into Juno's stack of backlog, too) when he runs into Barclay leaning against a tree with his eyes shut. A breeze rustles the leaves above, and the dying light projects shadows of them dancing across his face. 

 

“Hey, Barclay,” Duck greets. “What'cha up to out in the woods this evening?” 

 

Barclay opens his eyes and smiles. “Same as you, I'd say,” he responds. “Just keeping an eye on things. I love this forest nearly as much as you do, I think.” 

 

“Looked more like you were taking a nap to me, but whatever you say,” Duck jests. Barclay shakes his head good naturedly. 

Duck, not usually one for spur of the moment decisions, speaks impulsively. Being back in the woods probably made him go a bit loopy.

“Say, Barclay, I uh,” he pauses to rub the back of his neck. Can't stop now, he figures. “I don't s'pose you'd wanna come back to mine? Meet Crow, we could make some pasta, watch some Great British Bakeoff if the internet holds up. What d'you think?” With each word that comes out of his big mouth, he realises with embarrassment that he's describing a date, cheeks warm in the chilly air. 

 

“Er, who's.. _what’s_? - Crow?” Barclay asks. 

 

“Oh. That's my cat, she's - it's a nickname.” Duck grins. “Nah, not really, my sister named her and decided to go with the name of another animal for some reason.”

 

“Did your sister name you, too?” Barclay teases, and Duck laughs. Barclay doesn't seem to be hung up on the maybe-date, either not noticing the connotation or not minding. Duck's not sure which he prefers, but either way makes it easier to laugh. 

 

“I'd love to come over,” Barclay confirms, breaking into Duck's train of thought. “Amnesty's ordering pizza tonight, doing their duty as locals by keeping Gino's in business.” He shifts his weight and steps on a twig, and the _snap_ resounds through the darkening forest. 

 

“Let's get going then,” Duck prompts, looking around. He's not afraid of the dark - it'd make his job a hell of a lot more difficult - but now that he's aware that there's more than bobcats lurking in the shadows of the trees he's more cautious than he might have used to be. 

 

Barclay agrees and they start the short hike back to the ranger station, where Duck has to pick up the paperwork he planned on doing this evening and has now rescheduled for tomorrow noon. Finally, they're walking together up the steps to Duck's apartment. He pauses on the threshold, key in the lock. 

 

“So uh,” he prefaces. “Beacon's gonna make some noise. I barely ever have people over and he's gonna live for it.”

 

Barclay nods. “I'm ready,” he says. 

 

The door opens and Beacon, curled around a mug in the kitchen cabinet, visible from the small living room, immediately sneers, “Well...Duck Newton…I see you've _finally_ reeled in a _fish_ …” 

 

Duck pays Beacon no mind, and he and Barclay shed their heavy jackets. Duck turns on the heater. 

 

“Don't _ignore_ me, Duck Newtonnn…” Beacon draws his name out, clipping the t. “Without me, you wouldn't have gotten _anywhere_ …”

 

Duck saunters into the kitchen, and shuts the kitchen cupboard. Beacon's muffled protests are not nearly as disruptive as his commentary. 

 

“He's quite a character,” Barclay remarks from the couch. “I've got no idea how you live with him.”

 

“Why d'you think I'm over at Amnesty so much?” Duck asks. “Ok so, while I was in the kitchen I glanced in my cupboard and all I actually have to eat is tinned spaghetti, tinned ravioli, and tinned beans. Oh, and there's some frozen broccoli in the freezer.”

 

Barclay just stares, unimpressed. And stares a little more. His mouth is doing that thing where he opens it and closes it as though he wants to say something, but decides against it. Eventually he asks, “Duck Newton, do you live on tinned pasta and soggy broccoli?”

 

Duck shrugs, and repeats, “Why d'you think I'm over at Amnesty so much?”

 

Barclay pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger, a gesture Duck has observed coming from Mama, too. And Dani, come to think of it. Maybe they all picked it up from her. Or maybe it's a Sylph thing and _she_ picked it up from them. 

 

“Ok…” He starts. Duck's surprised by how genuinely bemused Barclay seems. “Ok, I can't think of anything very appetizing I can cook up with that. What if we got pizza?”

 

Now that's Duck's kinda meal. “Now we're cooking with gas,” he grins. “Or, y'know, Gino is.”

 

They bundle up again. As they leave, Beacon yells something from the kitchen cupboard, but it's too muffled to hear. Duck and Barclay smile ruefully at one another and Duck closes the door behind them. A light snow has begun to fall, and it crunches beneath their feet as they walk into town. 

 

Kepler is small enough that it only takes about ten minutes to reach Gino's. Small enough, too, that the line is a meager two people. As Duck pays, thumbing through his wallet for the correct change, he rifles past his pineguard patch, still loose and decidedly not sewn into his jacket. He meets Barclay's eyes and smiles sheepishly. 

 

As they're sitting on stools waiting for their pizza (and chicken nuggets) to be ready, the bell above the door jingles, and Jake Cool-Ice steps in, snowboard under his arm. He grins ear-to-ear when he sees the two of them, and immediately starts in their direction. 

 

“Hey dudes,” he says, slapping Duck's palm and then bro-fisting his knuckles. Duck's not sure how he managed to do that when he hadn't so much as moved his hand up for the handshake. “You all are getting pizza tonight too?” 

 

Barclay nods, managing to avoid a fistbump. “You're picking up for the lodge, huh?”

 

Jake beams. “Sure am! Got a special rack for the pizzas so my balance isn't thrown off without my hands. Aubrey helped me put it together.” He turns around and sure enough, he's got what looks like a small wire firewood bin messily welded to more wire which act as straps like you'd see on a backpack, with pool noodle around them to prevent Jake's shoulders from being cut in two. It looks…workable. 

 

“This bit was Dani's idea,” Jake says, tapping one pool noodle. “I'm gonna order now guys, catch ya later!” He heads towards the counter and starts reciting an absurdly long order. 

 

Their pizza is ready before long, and they say their goodbyes to Jake before making their way back to Duck's, snow a lot thicker on the ground now, wind a little harsher. Duck finds himself walking closer to Barclay, shoulders brushing. 

 

Beacon doesn't say anything when they return, (or if he does, they can't hear it) but Crow does. She yells at Duck as he and Barclay stomp the snow off their boots, and doesn't let up until he scoops her into his arms, where she immediately begins to purr.

 

“Barclay, meet Crow,” Duck introduces them. “She's very friendly - although she hates Ned for some reason - and wants me to feed her _right_ now.” 

 

Barclay laughs at that, scratching under Crow’s chin, and wanders over to the far wall to peruse the shelves of model boats, while Duck pours some dry biscuits into a yellow cat dish and refills Crow’s water bowl in the kitchen. 

 

And then, finally, they can sit back on the couch together. Duck sighs, realising as he sits down that he's never going to stand up again, his tired legs aching. His time out of action really put him at a pizza-getting disadvantage. 

 

“What'd you think of my boats?” he asks, cracking open the treasure (the pizza box) and taking a piece. Barclay follows suit but speaks before taking a bite. 

 

“They're real nice. Did you put them together yourself, or do you just collect them?” Now he devours his piece. 

 

“Bit of both,” Duck admits. “That one closest to us, that green one, that's a new one. Did that last week. But that one over there,” he points in the direction of a faded red-and-chestnut one, “that was my dad's.”

 

They eat the pizza, discussing boats, and then they get onto the subject of cooking, and Barclay bemoans Duck's eating habits once more, and Duck, in a moment of vulnerability, says, “I guess, I never really learned how to cook - or sew for the matter - cause I spent my childhood and teens actively avoiding anything deemed “feminine”.” He curls his fingers into airquotes on that last word. “Had to fight off those feelings of “this is wrong” some way. Big regret of mine, let me tell you.”

 

Barclay is quiet for a moment. “I can show you how to sew your patch on if you want,” he says. He wipes his pizza-grease fingers on a paper towel. “If you have sewing supplies?”

 

Duck finishes his own piece of pizza before replying. “I'd appreciate that,” he says. “Thanks, Barclay.”

 

Barclay shows Duck how to thread a needle without stabbing himself in the finger, and how to do a simple round stitch. He guides him through placement and pinning, and he also guides him through stitch un-picking when you accidentally sew the front of your jacket to the back. Once Duck's got the hang of it, they find GBBO on Netflix and only have to pause occasionally for stitch mishaps. It's really not that hard, Duck thinks. Of course, it was 100% more difficult before Barclay showed him. 

 

They're reaching the end of the third episode. The patch has long been finished, and Duck's slid down so his head is nearly rested on Barclay's shoulder. The credits start rolling and he presses pause before the next episode can automatically start.

 

“Hey,” Duck says, sitting upright, doing his best not to startle Crow nestled on Barclay's lap. “Thanks for teaching me how to sew that patch on. It really means a lot.”

 

“Don’t mention it,” Barclay responds, directing a radiant smile Duck's way. “You picked it up pretty quickly.” 

 

Duck's smiles lazily back. “Yeah, I'm basically a pro now. I bet I could even sew buttons back on.” Without even realising it, he's leaned in closer while he spoke, and there are barely centimeters between their faces. They meet eyes, a quick confirmation, and Duck leans in the rest of the way to press a soft, quick kiss to the Sylph's lips. Barclay's fingers lace through his, skin against skin, lips against lips, eyelashes against cheeks. 

 

Several more kisses later, they break apart, and after a beat of silence, Barclay says, “I…wasn't sure.”

 

Duck chuckles self-consciously and ducks his head. “Well, Barclay, why d'you think I'm over at Amnesty so much?” 

Beacon yells something from the kitchen cupboard. 


End file.
